


Clara

by AmandaBecker



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama & Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Healing, Past Sexual Abuse, Regency, Revenge, Trauma, Victim - Freeform, survive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29466513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaBecker/pseuds/AmandaBecker
Summary: This story is about Clara Brereton.Clara has to leave Sanditon, but is quite calm. She has already experienced worse things and knows that she will survive. She doesn't really have a plan, but the goal is still the same: Not to leave men the power and allow what they do to women. That is what she had promised someone in her past.But then something happens that she hadn't expected... At the Sanditon hotel she meets Mr Crowe...
Relationships: Clara Brereton/Mr Crowe
Comments: 42
Kudos: 23





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is not just a fluffy love story, but also the memory of a terrible crime!!!  
> Even if I won't go into any details, there will be hints that show what (in my opinion) Clara had to go through as a young girl and young woman.

Clara did not need long to put her belongings together. The few pieces of clothing she had owned before did not even fill her bag completely. The red coat was a Christmas gift from her aunt she would wear it at the journey to London. It was the warmest one and she would get there late at night. The rest of the clothes she left hanging in the cupboard, she did not want to be called a thief by Lady Denham. She did a lot but not steal.  


Then she stuffed her grandmother's scarf and took her mother's brittle comb in her hand. The filigree piece was the only precious treasure she had. It was not worth anything except sentimental memories. But they were also good memories. Lightly Clara stroked over it with her fingers, over the two broken prongs that scratched her scalp when she wasn't paying attention. But sometimes the pain was good to remember that she was still there. Alive.  


Unlike the others.  


Now Clara thought about how lovingly her mother had combed her hair with it, as she was a little child. It had taken her almost six minutes to free her hair from the many small knots and dirt, often also from lice. And after that her hair shone so beautifully, at least she thought so, because her mother had always told her, even though they didn't own a mirror to check it. But what was much more important, these were the only minutes that her mother was only hers. They had been talking or her mother had been humming a certain melody, which Clara unfortunately could not remember anymore. Too much had happened since then.

Now she put the comb together with her remaining hairpins and the chain into the small bag. She hated the chain because it brought back other memories. Horrible memories. But the necklace reminded her who she was or who she had been made into. And it reminded her, that she would never let it happen again.  


There was a knock at the door. And although she was grateful that she was prevented from thinking of that time, she still groaned to leave this house. Sanditon House. The largest and most elegant house she had ever lived in. At first it seemed like a castle to her and for a few minutes she felt like a princess. Her aunt had destroyed this feeling immediately when she let her lead her into her room. But what the grand lady didn't understand was that this old servant's room with its small window and narrow but soft bed was still more comfortable than anything Clara had known before.

The joy about it was true and she was almost disappointed when weeks later she had to move into one of the rooms actually reserved for guests. But who was she to complain about anything?  


Now she stood in the room she had been living in for months and stroked the silky bedspread once more and sighed penitently, having risked everything so stupidly. After all, not only had she been able to eat here regularly and leave her room as often as possible, which was not a matter of course in her previous life. Even if society sometimes left something to be desired, one thing she had never been: alone.  


Although the conversations were sometimes tiring, Clara had memorised all the big names and later noted them down in her little booklet, which her aunt had told her about. Who was married to whom, who was whose son and who had how much property and wealth. Which rich daughters were there and who might be looking for a second heir. In a naive voice she had then repeated the names and made mistakes on purpose and as expected, Lady Denham could not resist reciting in an angry voice all the degrees of kinship of the Earls and Lords. And of course she wrote this in her little booklet as well, in her delicate plain writing. Sometimes her aunt's soft side also came out. When she was playing the piano, for example, the hard shell cracked and the grand lady got a melancholy look. Or she would proudly straighten up, because she saw how the guests admired Clara’s playing and her aunt basked in the skills she had never learned herself. Yes, playing the piano was something she could rather do well. Clara was grateful for the opportunity to renew her skills here. She grinned shortly as she thought about how shocked the great lady would have been if she would learn what she had to do to be able to learn how to play the instrument. A short memory of that time, wiped the grin off her face and a cold shiver ran trough her.

Clara shook off the memory and tried to recall other things she had learned here. And what she had observed. She could write a book about it. One of her talents, even if there were not many, gave her the opportunity to judge people correctly after only a few minutes. Although the naïve innocent Miss Heywood had briefly thrown her off track. How she envied her, for not knowing what men could do to women.  


"I don't understand."  


Charlotte had said at the ball and Clara was stunned and tears tickled in her eyes. If they had been alone, this moment would have been different. But so she could only shout in her mind to this unknowing child.  


‘All men are evil! They’ll break your heart - which is not the worst thing, but they’ll break your body, your soul! Be careful, be careful!’  
But she remained silent and stared into these childlike round eyes. And for a short moment, for just a very tiny moment, she also was an innocent child again. She could remember this feeling.  


"Of course not."  


She had answered, because she knew that these women existed too. Who were over twenty and who had never had anything to do with a man. Who neither knew what a man looked like nor what he could do to her. Women who did not know how to kiss, who believed in carefree and everlasting love. Who sat down on a sunny spot like a delicate butterfly, and did not see that a black boot was coming towards her, which would trample her down and in a blink of an eye her life would be over.  
It was beautiful, this innocence and she hoped for this sweet girl, who in another life might have become her friend, that her innocence would be retained as long as it could be.  


But the day would come when she lost it, like all of them.

Mr Crowe then had asked her to dance and Clara looked at Charlotte again. So open to the world that was offered to her, her heart would fly to a man who would surely make it burst. Clara could only wish her that he was worth it.

There was another knock on the door and Clara took a deep breath to get rid of the thought and opened the door. One of the servants stood before her in civilian clothes and bowed his head, probably not knowing exactly how to behave towards her.  


"I am to... escort you out Miss."  


Clara nodded, took her bonnet and pressed her bag close to her body. She also took her bonnet bag in her other hand. Once more she looked around the room, not to see if she had forgotten anything, but to memorise the details and save them to the other stations in her life that she had to remind herself from time to time. And to torture herself. But also to remember how far she had come already. Even if she had felt something like contentment here, she would discard the time here as particularly instructive.  


She nodded and took a long deep breath. Then she followed the servant across the corridor, but she was not allowed to use the main staircase, but was led down the servant stairs to the service rooms. They passed by the kitchen and the smell of roast duck filled the air. Yes, she would not taste something like that for a long time and she greedily soaked up the smell.  
At the side entrance, the servant opened the door, stepped out into the bright midday sun and made no attempt to leave her side. Questioningly she looked at him.  


"I am to make sure you leave the estate, Miss."  


Silently she closed her eyes for a moment. Everything could, or rather should have gone so much better. Her mother had put so much hope in her that she would have a better life. But she could not afford sentimentality and remorse.  
Clara stretched out her chin and back and walked forward with big, energetic steps as if she was on her way to an incredibly exciting and interesting event. Well, in a way she was, and she certainly didn't want to give the old lady and Esther the satisfaction of having gone as a broken woman. 

She didn't let herself get down that quickly.  


Her thoughts now whirled around what she should do as they came closer to town. At some point the servant stopped at the invisible border of the property and bowed his head again briefly. Of course Clara said nothing, just wandered on in silence.

At the docks, she met Edward who had left the house before she did. He was a broken man and in Clara there was a brief surge of pride that the women in his family were so much stronger than him. Men were so weak. Not all of course, but most of them. Even though she had no idea what to do at the moment, she knew she would somehow manage to survive. She always did.  
Clara had been through this often enough and would do it again. Although she no longer had any relatives to take her in, she had learned a lot from them in all kinds of ways. And from other people too. Sanditon had been very instructive.  


From the beginning she was aware that Edward was a weak man. He was a man who could hardly hide his aversion and carnal lust for women. This would break his neck one day. Although she had found the time with him interesting, and he was also the first and only man to whom she had voluntarily given herself, albeit not entirely unselfishly. Well, but it wasn't like she was going to do it again. With him, and if she had her way, she'd never want to be with anybody ever again anyway. The men took and took and took and gave nothing back. But it was their weakness. Their carnal lust and the supposed confirmation, that they could dominate all women. But she had promised her mother that she would use this to her advantage and thus pay back those who had destroyed the women in her family.  


Now she smiled at Edward. She could already see it and was happy that one day a woman, a certain woman would be his downfall. He desired Esther, but would never get her. She had made sure of that. Clara admired Esther for her innocence and graceful beauty, her fire and alert spirit. And as long as she could prevent such a dirty man from polluting such a pure thing, she would know how to prevent it.  


Clara laughed sadly for a moment. Esther and her should have joined forces. Yes. Edward would not have had a chance and they could have worked together. But Esther was blind because she thought she loved Edward. But he had only taken advantage of the awakening of her female sensuality. They were all like that, stupid and blind as soon as feelings were involved. Once she had been stupid and innocent too, but that was a long time ago.

Lost in thoughts, Clara watched the seagulls in the sky. How she would love to be a bird that could fly around and see the world from above. A bird that could choose a destination without regard to borders and settle wherever it wanted. Who could flutter around unseen from up there and attack. Which glided slowly over the landscape and did not see how people really were. What a blessing that must be!  


Then suddenly the thought occurred to her that she might miss the carriage and she ran to the hotel.  


"What time is the London coach depart?" She shouted even before she was inside.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. Spending another night in Sanditon without a roof over her head would be the biggest shame and she hoped she wasn't too late.

"Excellent question." A voice came to her ear and her heart made a little strange leap.  
"Soon before we escape this infernal backwater."  


It amazed Clara again that he managed to get to the heart of the matter with a few sly words and somehow managed to make it all ridiculous.  


"Mr Crowe."  
"Miss Brereton." There was something about his voice that calmed her. And yet there was something about him that made her nervous.  
"What a stroke of luck. I'm to London all by myself."  


He stood up and came quite close with one step. To be able to look him in the face she had to stretch her neck and the strange feeling she had noticed at the ball when they danced together tickled her forehead, as he stood so close, it was almost improper. Not that she cared what people thought, but what did he thought? Did he know what she had done?  


"Do you have friends in the city?" He asked and his eyes grinned.  
"Not well known, I'm afraid." Did she admit honestly and wondered why she had done so!  


What would he say now? Clara's heart was beating faster when he was so close, slightly bending his knees and taking her bonnet bag. Although she was wearing gloves, she felt his touch. Astonished, she looked up at him. What was he up to?  


“Well, hmm. You know one.”  


He smiled and it almost made her smile back. But then he pointed with a look into the Inn.  
Clara suddenly lost the pleasant feeling, when she realised that he was just one of those people who made her pay for being a helpless girl. She took a deep breath, nodded to him and put her mask back on. Don't show him, you are disappointed!

They went into the Inn and amazingly, he pulled a chair from the table and indicated her to sit down. He ordered tea for her and a small lunch. Why did he do that? Clara watched him and slowly took off her gloves.  


"The journey is long and there are hardly any breaks." He moaned. "Just because Parker insists on staying here, I have to take the public carriage," he leaned in a little closer over the table, "who would have thought that I would have much more interesting company now?"  


Again this grin, which Clara could not quite interpret, it was not sweet and insecure like at the ball. It wasn't casual either, or drunk like at the cricket. No. There was something about it and she couldn't quite put her finger on it. There was a special glint in his eyes. Maybe he wanted to tease her. Make fun of her? Or just flirt with her, after all, he had shown a lot of interest at the ball and asked her to dance once more. And he was a good dancer. It had been fun and she had not been able to suppress the laughter as he had twirled her around wildly. So what was the point of this? She twitched her head briefly and was grateful when the tea and sandwich was served. That distracted her from his smiling eyes.

In order to get what she wanted, and after she had failed to be appointed as heir of Lady Denham, she had to marry a man with money who would allow her to do what she had promised. Becoming the lover of a drunkard was not on the agenda.  
It was important for her to pay close attention and be prepared for what he wanted from her. No matter how nice and charming and funny he was, she was not allowed to be tempted, even if he made her feel that she was worth it.  
Mr Crowe had made her laugh in a way that no one had ever done before. Clara sighed, because feelings were not allowed in this business.  


After all, he was a man.  


It was enough to make her mistrust him.  


That was the reason why he could never be her friend.


	2. Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to London reminds Clara of other journeys in her life and they are not happy memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the middle part I made Clara remember things that I only hint at and don't describe in detail, but I think they are intense enough. I want to describe it as respectfully as possible, but also not forget the feelings one experience during or after these horrific acts.

Clara ate slowly to win time to be able to answer Crowe's questions thoughtfully. But he didn't ask anything, just commented with a certain glint in his eyes. He lowered his voice so that no one around them could hear what he was saying. He leaned across the table and remarked,

"The old witches change their minds like flags in the wind."

His expression was probably intended to be neutral, but Clara, who had developed a good knowledge of people over the years, realised that he wanted to provoke her into an answer or at least an emotion. But instead of venting about Lady Denham like some other naive young ladies would probably have done, she asked a question in return.

"So you've also had your experience with these?"

She said the word 'also' so delicately that no one else would have noticed, but Crowe, eager to learn more about Clara and her sudden departure, of course noticed. 'Also', that meant they had both dealt with such people, they had both had to live by what others decided, and they had something in common. That little string that had been telling him since the ball that there was more behind her pretty appearance twitched and even if he didn't want to let it show, he knew that they already had a second thing in common. But of course he would not let her know that. He was sober and had realised that she wanted to know something about him without revealing anything about herself. And with a slight grin and an even deeper tone in his voice, he only replied,

"I've experience with many things."

He looked hard into her eyes and had to admit that he probably wished he could see some knowledge of what he meant glittering in her eyes, but her big blue eyes looked at him with such innocence that he was ashamed to have thought such a thing of her. He leaned back in his chair and thought about her and this situation for a moment. 

"Were you cheeky?"

Clara looked at her hands, she felt that was appropriate in this situation to make him believe that she had been treated badly. And it seemed he liked the innocent damsel in distress, so she did her best to make him believe that she was one and the other.

"Perhaps I have bored her with my lack of knowledge."

She raised her head but didn't look at him, a look into the distance was now a good movement, a little wipe across her eyes as if she had to remind herself not to give in to her feelings in public, a little sigh, but still silence. It would not be long before he would ask the next question.

"Or have you offended her?"

He asked after a few seconds of silence and she lifted her gaze, eyes widening in shock, quite the innocent girl who would never do such a thing! Then a small frown, apparently a memory flashed through her pretty head, lips slightly parted. Waiting for an answer, Crowe leaned closer and as he was near enough to hear her little sarcastic snort, she said.

"My whole existence is offending her."

And that wasn't even a lie. Without her wanting it, memories flashed up briefly. What could have been avoided if Lady D. hadn't seen her family as an insult, but had helped them while it was still possible? Like so many, the old lady hovered over things, could treat everything and everyone as she wanted because she was rich. But if she had listened just once, just only once, and taken her mother's letters and the requests for help in them seriously, things would have turned out differently, Clara was absolutely sure of that. 

Crowe was sure that had hit a nerve, but he didn't want to go into it. Her face suddenly had a terribly sad expression and tears glistened in her eyes, even though she avoided an emotional outburst. He would have loved to know the exact reasons for this statement, but they didn't know each other well enough. 

"And yet you lived with her for a while."

He tried a lighter tone and Clara nodded and even smiled a little. He hoped she would be persuaded to answer, he just wanted to know more.

"She had no choice."

Well, the bad conscience had finally convinced her old aunt, to take her in, but Clara couldn't forgive her for waiting so long. That’s why her scruple about having burnt her last will and waiting for her death was limited. Lady D. wasn't directly but indirectly involved in her fate and that of the others, and no one would be able to convince her otherwise. She had seen the letters her mother had written and she knew Lady D had gotten them all. She had found them in the drawer where the last will and testament had been kept as well.

Fortunately, they were finally able to leave the inn when the carriage arrived. Crowe helped Clara in and she was glad that they were not alone in the carriage. So she was only exposed to Crowe's gaze, but not to his questions. He knew what talking could do and therefore avoided giving other people something to talk about. He didn't want to reduce Clara's chances by talking to her about things that were too intimate. Who knows, maybe the old witch would change her mind again and order her back in a few days. He couldn't know that it would never come to that, or the reason why.

Since no one spoke in the carriage, he contented himself with watching Clara and studying her beautiful figure and her exceedingly beautiful face. Occasionally following her gaze on the landscape that passed by and otherwise imagining things about her that ranged from innocent conversations to their dancing at the ball to quite naughty things. He wasn't the least bit ashamed of it. Every man was doing it when a woman had caught his interest. And yes, he had to admit, she had. Her behaviour puzzled him, that whispering with Edward at the stupid cricket match made them seem very familiar with each other. The submissive behaviour towards Lady D, and the complete letting go at the dance. Her light-heartedness had blown him away, her energy and her laughter had been so free, even though she had seemed almost withdrawn before and after. Crowe was convinced that she could have fun and that deep down she wanted to, but that she was condemned to be a good girl, trapped in the constraints of society.

Clara felt his observing gaze on her, he wasn't exactly subtle, but she didn't let it show that she knew what he was doing. Leaning her head against the wall of the carriage and staring out at the passing landscape, she tried to think about her future. As they passed fields and a meadow where a few children were playing catch made a brief smile forming on her lips. How she envied these children. For their innocence and joy. Although she didn't know it with certainty, she thought she could recognise the light-heartedness in them, that had been taken from her so early, maybe the same age as this young girl with plaited red braids. She was unable to supress the memories, her mind travelled back in time and remembered her first life changing day.

She had also played in a meadow with her friends and her two years older sister Becky, before they had rushed home to help their mother with the sewing that she did for a few shillings. Clara remembered this last time they played happily as if it had been yesterday. Her blonde braids had hit her back hard as she had ran around the tree. The sweat on her brow. The loud laughter of her sister who was barely able to hold herself up as Colin Gillis, the neighbour’s boy, had told another funny story. The disappointment when they had realised they had to go home. It was the last day of her childhood. Even though she had only been six years old.

It was the first day of the exhausting journey of her life. The first day as a semi-orphan, because on that day her father had left them all. Then followed weeks of drudgery and hunger, fleas and sorrow. The mother's sewing was not enough to support all three of them. The mother wrote to the unloved relatives who had never wanted her. She was not looking for help for herself, but for her two daughters. She begged for mercy, a roof over their head in exchange for work. And yes, after a few more weeks, one of the aunts, who, like Lady Denham, had had the good fortune in her youth to marry well, offered to take them in. She had not quite forgotten her brother, and professed to have missed and loved him all these years, though she had not been to the funeral, nor ever had written a letter. But none of that mattered. Mrs Brereton was so happy for her daughters and the invitation that included her too, that she never questioned it. Of course she never complained about it in the slightest. However, Clara was convinced that if her mother had known their fate, she would have preferred for them all to starve in their shabby hut.

Clara took a deep breath as she thought about this time. How different her life would have been if her father hadn't been drunk and drowned in the dock. If he had been a little luckier and had not been disowned by his family for marrying the wrong woman. One with no fortune. She glanced briefly to Crowe, who nodded at her with a light smile, but before he could open his mouth to speak to her, she turned back to the window. All the more reason to stay away from Mr Crowe, she thought, drunkard were never good, they destroyed not only their own lives, but also those close to them. 

She hung on to her memories, remembering her first journey to an unknown but more promising future. The young Clara had also stared out of the window and let the landscape pass by. At that time, she had imagined herself sitting on the back of a horse and how the wind on her skin would feel, and wished it would have been true instead of sitting cramped in a carriage with stifling air. 

But back then she didn't know. 

She didn’t know that it could be even more cramped and stuffy. Locked in a small cupboard, the sister who covered her mouth so that no one would discover them. But it was no use. They had caught them and made them suffer even more, because they had dared to run away and hide. That first journey was not only the journey from a small shabby village to a mansion in the countryside. From a run-down hut to a cosy warm room without a leaking roof. It was also the journey of suddenly waking up, of finding out that it could always get worse, that there was even much more pain than the one time before. That no one could be trusted and that there was no escape. That there were nice looking people who could cause nasty pain despite their engaging smiles. That kneeling for hours on the cold stone floor of the hall, which was painful, tiring and above all humiliating, was the least evil of all. That the silent tears of her mother and the load cries of her sister had not prepared her for what had at some point become a daily torture. That a soft bed was not only the place of refuge and warmth, but also the place where one lost consciousness from pain. It was the journey of an always good, heartily laughing, innocent girl who, until that day, wished for nothing more than to see those responsible for all the suffering die an agonising most painful death. 

No, she hadn’t known anything back then and she often mourned that time. But she couldn't get it back. The past was gone forever, one could only try to learn from it and make the best of the future, as far as she could.

Clara tried to concentrate on the most obvious, what would she do first in London? Searching who owed her a favour. In her head, she ran through the names of the few people she knew in the huge city, but her thoughts disobeyed her and turned back to all the other journeys she had made before she landed here. A sarcastic laugh escaped her as she realised that every one of her journeys had involved a death, except her departure from Sanditon. Probably because there was no one left who could die, who meant anything to her. 

And her hope continued to rise, as she reviewed her past journeys and lives in different places, she realised that they had become less bad. From the worst horror and pain, betrayal, sickness and so much loss, to a cosy place on the coast of simple intrigue, arguments over the inheritance and catfights with Esther. 

Yes, it could only get better.

"Miss Brereton?" 

Clara jumped up, having truly fallen asleep before she could think about what to do in London! She scolded herself and this time her facial expression of complete surprise and slight shock was not an act. She had to think, think! 

But there was no more time, they had already had to leave the carriage and the next moment they were standing there on the street. People were rushing around, at an eager pace, as if it were broad daylight and everyone was running to work. Clara usually had everything under control. Her feelings anyway, but if she gave in for even one more moment and let the memories drag her back to the disturbing past, she would collapse right here and now and possibly never have the strength to get up again.

That was not how it should be! The memories of that time had thrown her off track and made her become again what she had once been. But she was not a victim. No anymore and never again! She would make it, no matter what the cost!

Crowe watched with amazement the transformation before his eyes and this time he was sure that what he was seeing was really happening. For not only was he sober, but it had been so obvious that he felt strangely honoured to have been present.

Miss Brereton had startled when he had woken her. Her eyes had widened and her pale face, sparsely lit by the candle on the carriage, had become even paler. She looked like a fragile unearthly being. A ghostly apparition that if one blinked oh so very briefly would disappear into the mist of the night. He was still looking for words of encouragement, words that would assure her that he would help her, whatever that help might be. But his words were not necessary in that moment. Suddenly she grew back into the stately young lady she was. With her head held up high and her posture as straight as a candle. In the blink of an eye, she had grown from a pale, small and lifeless-looking ghost into a warrior. He had no other words for it. She looked like one of those powerful female figures that served as a patron of protection or a deterrent on the bow of many ships. 

He found it utterly fascinating.

With a slight grin, he sought her gaze, nodded in the direction of the less dangerous corner and said.

"An old friend of mine lives in that direction."

She looked at him silently, with no movement in her face, and although he had not had any naughty intentions, he would have put it out of his mind at that moment anyway.

"I'm sure she has a room for you."

"Thank you, Mr Crowe." she replied firmly.

And his grin turned into a genuine smile. Because he was proud of her. She gave him absolutely no indication that she was even thinking about to show gratitude in any other way than this. That showed that she knew who she was, and he also found that most fascinating.

Crowe bent down, took her luggage in one hand and his bag in the other. He kept the formal distance, unlike their meeting in the morning, and let her take the path he had suggested.


	3. baggage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara has no choice but to trust Crowe and let him guide her through London. Who will they meet and how close is Crowe to this person?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Clara remembers things from her terrible past and even if I don't describe the details, they are violent enough imo, so please skip it if you don't want to read something like that.

As they walked through the streets, Clara wondered what kind of friend this was that Mr Crowe had mentioned. Probably a former lover who was now too old to tempt him, and she was raising his illegitimate children, she thought sarcastically. One who was just good enough to give his new lovers a place to stay before he set up a home for her somewhere, where he would come and use her at any time of the day or night, and thought he could do whatever he wanted with her. Oh how she detested these men! And even more so those who believed that a young woman with no connections would nothing desire more than to become their lover, she would have liked to spit at the feet of this people, just as her father had always said, but of course never did. But she waited. She didn't want to be unfair and for some reason she had the strange feeling that Mr Crowe somehow meant well with her. 

At least for the moment. 

She kept looking back at him but he just told her to keep walking and soon they left the dark corner of London and came to the part where the houses were neater and the front gardens bigger than the hut she had grown up in.

"Over there." He pointed to a two-storey house on the next street corner. 

As far as Clara could tell from the poor illumination of the streetlights, the house was painted in a light colour, it didn't look stately and dominant, but inviting and friendly. Nevertheless, she remained on her guard. She let him lead the way up the stairs and looked around while he waited for the door to open.

"Oh, Mr Crowe, good to see you!" greeted the maid who opened the door and took the luggage from him. 

Clara followed the two into the hall, from which a corridor was leading to the back of the house and a marble staircase leading to an upper floor. In total she counted three doors, one to the left before the staircase and two on the right side of the hall.

"I'll let her know," said the maid after she had led them into the salon and then left.

Clara noticed that she had left the door wide open and that Mr Crowe made no move to close it. This reassured her a little, but she continued to look for escape routes, things she could use as weapons, and wandered around the room as if in passing to put more distance between them. This had become a second nature, never again would she naively follow a man into a room without expecting the worst from him. 

Mr Crowe stayed at the other end of the room, went to the bottles on a small table next to the window and filled three glasses half full with brandy. He put them on a tray and placed it on the table between the two sofas. He made no move to bring her a glass, nor did he invite her to join him. He kept his distance and she appreciated that. 

"Who exactly are we meeting here, Mr Crowe?" she asked thoughtfully and looked at him with her chin down, knowing it made her seem even more delicate and submissive, and her eyes looked bigger, which had saved her from evil at least once.

"My former..." 'Lover’ thought Clara, thinking of an appropriate remark as she heard him finish. "Nanny." 

He smiled wryly and stared out the window next to the small bar, while Clara pretended to stare out of the one she was standing in front of, but she saw nothing except the black night outside and her own reflection.

"At some point, of course, I didn't need her any more, but she was still always there for me and well, when she got too old to carry little children around and clean up after them, I bought her this house." 

He shrugged as if it was no big deal to buy a house like this for the former nanny. Clara wondered why anyone would do that. This woman had to raise his illegitimate children, she couldn't think of any other reason. Why a man, even a supposed rich man, should do this for someone who was once an employee, when others were not even willing to help their poor relatives?

"How many children live here?" a private house of the orphans, how nice, she thought sarcastically, and was once again surprise at his answer.  
"None, unless you mean kittens."  
"Kittens?"  
He laughed and nodded, but didn't explain it any further.

After a short silent moment, the maid returned, a small slim woman limping with one leg on her arm. Mr Crowe walked up to her and greeted her as if she was a dear relative and Clara felt a pang in her heart. Jealousy crawled up her spine, as it always did when she saw people hugging each other in friendship, without any evil intention behind it.

The elderly lady put both hands to Mr Crowe's face and seemed visibly pleased to see him.

"Francis, my dear boy, I wasn't expecting you at all."  
"I came back early."   
"Did you bring me another stray kitten?" 

This remark made Clara smile, that was not exactly what girls without homes were called, but she found it quite charming.

"No, not a kitten, a young lady, Miss Clara Brereton." again Clara was amazed that the conversation about cats seemed to be serious.  
"Oh, did I take it right." The former nanny turned her face in Clara's direction and beckoned her towards her.   
"Please come into the light, my dear, my eyes aren't so good any more."

Tears sprang to Clara's eyes, she couldn't remember any of her acquaintance ever calling her that and making it sound like they meant it in a nice way. She had to be careful! This woman seemed nice, but that are usually the most dreadful ones. Cautiously not showing any of her concerns, she walked up to the old lady and curtsied, as she should. The lady smiled, her eyes narrowed a little so that she could see Clara better.

"You're a very pretty girl." Clara saw her nudge her former protégé and then continued to speak as if nothing had happened.  
"Miss Clara Brereton, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Innes Clarke, not a Mrs and not a Miss for a long time." she laughed and Clara felt a rare warmth rising inside her that she had felt the last time she had laughed with Miss Heywood in the ice cold water of Sanditon. "But you can call me Mrs or Miss as you like."

"But she prefers to be called Mrs," Crowe replied in a conspiratorial tone, as if he were telling Clara a secret, "it makes her seem more mature." 

The two seemed to share a joke as Mrs Clarke shook her head happily before becoming a little more serious.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions," she pointed to the sofas.

Mr Crowe led Mrs Clarke to the one, which was opposite a window, sat down next to her and handed her the glass with brandy. Clara sat down on what was at the right angle to it and braced herself for awkward questions she would rather not answer in Mr Crowe's presence. 

"Because if you're going to live here, I'd like to know a few things about you."  
"Of course."  
"If you don't want to answer any question because it's too personal or because it bothers you to say it while Francis is with us, we can talk without him." 

This statement didn't expect an answer and none was needed as Crowe nodded and smiled a nice smile that almost resembled his shy one at the ball. Clara didn't expect this either and her alarm bells were ringing loudly in her head because this was all too nice and friendly, it couldn't be real. Clara took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on Mrs Clarke.

"Did you run away from home?"  
"No ma'am." replied Clara immediately.  
"Do you have any relatives who will be looking for you because you stole something from them?"   
"No ma'am." She didn’t steal and she was sure Lady Denham would never look for her.  
"I don't suppose you have a husband either?" Mrs Clarke smiled kindly.  
"No." Clara smiled back and hoped that the questions were over, but knew at the same time the worse would follow now.

"So you are alone, with no relatives left to take you in?" 

The word ‘alone ‘made Clara twitch slightly and although she could no longer see properly Mrs Clarke noticed.

"Right." Clara looked at her hands, expecting another question about that fact, how her parents died and all this, but also Mrs Clarke kept surprising her.

"You two met in Sanditon?"  
"Yes ma'am."  
"Was there any..."

"No!" They both answered as if from the same mouth and Clara and Mr Crowe looked at each other for a very short moment before they both turned their eyes back to Mrs Clarke.

"Good. I have a few rules." The lady explained business like but with a friendly smile to Clara before asking, "how good are you at following rules?"

Clara's mind flooded with all the scenarios in which she had ever broken rules. Broken rule of society in which she had slept with Edward Denham was the least evil of all. Rules that their aunt had set up, as they had thought they had found refuge after their father's death. They included not speaking, not laughing too loud, and never complaining. They had often been difficult to follow, but to other rules that came later they were simply ridiculous. The rules that their uncle, cousins, another uncle and his friend had demanded had been harder to accept and at some point she had broken them all. But honestly, she was proud of it. Clara had broken their rules and had defended herself, screamed loudly, scratched, had bitten, and had beaten back. Or she had done just the opposite and simply kept her mouth shut and let everything, truly everything, happen to her. In doing so, she had broken the rule that was the most difficult for her. Begging for mercy.

"I try my best to follow the rules that have been set up." Clara answered in her grateful voice.

It was always good to make people think she was an innocent girl. Some would pity her, some would start their torment slowly or just leave it at minor insults and daily corrections, as Lady D. had done. Clara smiled slightly at the thought of the easy life she had had with her in Sanditon, but she immediately shook it off, she was now here and had to adjust to this new situation.

"That's good." Mrs Clarke seemed satisfied and took a small sip of her brandy, before she asked "What about your skills?"

The scenarios and words that came to Clara's mind made her press her lips together, but she knew the woman in front of her didn't mean anything disgusting.

"I can embroider and sew, ma'am." 

She had refined this during her visit to all her aunts, and even though it was a hard school, her work was quite respectable. She was sure it would be enough for Mrs Clarke, a former nanny and not a selfish old witch who had treated her poor nieces and their mother no better than dogs and even worse than her employees.

"That is very commendable, but perhaps something more exciting?"  
"I can draw and playing the piano."  
"Oh really?" 

Mrs Clarke clapped her hands enthusiastically and Clara was so surprised by this honest, almost childlike reaction that she forgot her reserve for a moment and rejoiced with her.

"Tell me you can sing and read to me from books and letters." Mrs Clarke grasped Clara's hand and she did not shrink from it.

"I can do that too, ma'am."

Mrs Clarke looked at Mr Crowe and patted his cheek.

"She's a fine young lady, Francis."

"I know." He murmured.

Clara had heard it and he gave her a look that made her lose her composure a little. This cheeky look that seemed to call for repayment, yet in a strange way did not seem mean, but rather charming. It was his eyes, something about his eyes. But Clara did not like to think about it, she could not afford to think about it. She was thankful, that he had brought her here, but she shouldn’t lose sight of her goal.

"It is so simple." 

Mrs Clarke drew the attention back to her and looked Clara firmly in the face, but then she changed her mind and told Mr Crowe to get her another glass of brandy, even though she hadn't finished the first one. Crowe understood, got up and adjourned to the small bar, kindly prolonging his stay there until Mrs Clarke had given Clara the final details. 

"If you'll keep me company for a while or a bit more, " she smiled "I'll be glad to give you a home."

Clara could hardly believe what she was saying. A stranger would give her a home, just to keep her company, that couldn't be true, it had to be a dream or a trap, because such people existed only in fairy tales.

"But my house is a respectable house."

Clara nodded, almost convinced that it really was.

"No male visitors." Mrs Clarkes voice was still friendly but also strict, this rule was something Clara could honestly smile about.

"Unless they want to court you."

Clara shook her head, no one would want to court her, she had nothing, she was nothing, she had been told that often enough. Mrs Clarke nodded knowingly, leaned a little closer and said the words that almost made Clara think the old lady knew everything she had been through.

"Yet in this house, you are never alone with a man."

Crowe returned with a freshly filled glass of brandy just as the maid came back into the room and told them the room for the young lady was ready. Mrs Clarke stood up and asked Clara to support her, which she did without another thought. They went to the door and Crowe followed them. Although she hardly knew him, Clara had a strange feeling about letting him go. She was familiar with men and what they usually wanted and knew how to deal with them. She did not know how to deal with a strange older lady who used to be a nanny. The friendly and good-natured manner seemed so convincing that Clara was almost willing to believe her.

"You can join us for breakfast." Mrs Clarke told Mr Crowe and then they said goodbye.

As he had left, Clara was still looking at the door as if she wanted to stare a hole into it. 

"Come on, you must be tired from your journey." 

Clara didn’t know why she had the feeling, that the older woman knew more than the words alone said, but she couldn't quite shake it off.

After climbing the stairs, Mrs Clarke explained that her own room was to the left, next to the stairs and Clara's was at the end of the small corridor. They went to the door and entered a small but nice room with a bed, a wardrobe and a small desk with a washing bowl on it. The steam of the hot water formed a small fog line above it, which began to dance through the movements of the women.

Clara breathed a thank you into the candlelit room and could hardly believe her luck that she had ended up here.

"Thank you Biddy." said Mrs Clarke to the maid, who then quietly disappeared leaving the two alone.   
"I hope you like it."

"Of course I do, I thank you with all my heart." and Clara meant it, even though the nagging thought in her head was screaming 'watch out, watch out!'

"You can lock the door." Mrs Clarke explained incidental, as if she was explaining how to use the doorknob.

"A lot baggage." 

Mrs Clarke remarked quietly, looking Clara in the face and then to the small bag and the bonnet bag next to the table. Clara couldn't hear any irony in the older woman's voice, but it had to be meant that way, just when she had allowed herself to believe that this old lady is as nice as she seemed. Their eyes met again and Clara had her mask back on. The face that said 'you can't hurt me', but it shattered under the gaze of her new hostess.

"I don't mean your bags." She smiled softly, squeezing Clara's hand and left the room.

Clara stared after the lady of the house as she slowly went to her room, and only when she heard the door close did she close hers as well and locked it. Before she did anything else, she inspected the walls. She had to make sure that there was no secret door through which anyone could come in uninvited. Clara didn't find anything and the window didn't show anything special either. It was just a normal room for a normal houseguest. Small enough to feel comfortable in and yet big enough not to feel trapped. The bed was soft and smelled of flowers and freshness.

To not soil it, she stood up and undressed. She placed her shoes neatly on the wall next to the wardrobe where she hung her coat and dress. She would unpack the rest later because she didn't want to deprive herself of the pleasure of washing with hot water. She opened her stays, laid it on a chair and removed the rest of the clothes she was wearing. Then she stood in the narrow, ankle-high tub, which caught the water that she let run down her body. She scrubbed her face until it burned, and she also washed her neck and arms with rather rough movements, only the burn scar, into which Esther had drilled her nails so painfully, was treated with care. All the parts of her body that were spotless were washed quickly and almost roughly, not to hurt herself, just to make it go faster. The other parts, she dabbed carefully, as if the scars were still fresh, bleeding and swollen. But they hadn't been for a long time. They were all faded and barely recognisable on her milky skin in the half-light of this room. But they were there and Clara knew they were there and that they would never disappear.

Then she reached for the towel, it was soft and felt pleasantly light on her skin. She pulled a thin shirt out of her bag, which had served as a sleeping gown for years, but was so thin that in some places it revealed more than it concealed. But she did not sew up the small holes. It was the only piece she had left from Becky and she would never change or renew anything about it. It would decay like Becky's body in the dark cold earth and someday fade away into nothing. 

Like everything else.


End file.
